Outtakes
by Firebirdd
Summary: A selection of deleted scenes. Last scene: Grace sports a new piece of jewellery that does not go unnoticed by the eyes of her observant colleagues.
1. Gina's Observations

**Author's Note: **This story will encompass a few oneshots that never made it into any of my finished stories, namely from the RN-verse. I came across a few snippets a while ago, and have started cleaning some of the better ones up a little rather than just deleting them outright. That being said, they were deleted because they were either too fluffy, or because I couldn't fit them into a story. As a result, this entire thing comes with the following warnings: expect extremely saccharine nonsense; and don't be too surprised if the scene feels a little fragmented. Each scene stands on its own; no follow-ups were ever written for them.

**Chapter rating: K+ **for one word

* * *

><p>"The more things change," Gina murmured to herself under her breath, as she watched the DI go through his paperwork. She knocked.<p>

"What is it?" Neil asked absently, signing off on another report.

"What kind of greeting is that, Neil Manson?" she asked in amusement. Neil looked up.

"Gina!" he exclaimed in delighted surprise, getting to his feet. The former Inspector smiled broadly at him, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"Again, what kind of question is that, Neil?" Gina repeated. "Jack asked me in to consult on a cold case. Thought I'd drop in on my faaavourite Sun Hill DI." Her words held a hint of the (in)famous Gina sarcasm which made it difficult to tell whether her words were genuinely meant.

"Well, I'd hope so, given I'm the only one here you've worked as much with," Neil replied dryly.

"Inspector Gold!" Stevie stopped short at the sight of Gina at the DI's door on the way into CID.

"I heard you'd been promoted," Gina turned to include the younger woman in the conversation. "Congratulations, Detective _Sergeant_ Moss! How are you finding it?"

"Thanks, ma'am," Stevie replied. "It's...uh...challenging."

"She's doing all right," Neil said off-handedly. Stevie couldn't help but blush a little at the unexpected praise from her usually reticent boss.

"Oooh, high praise indeed," Gina said, raising her eyebrows. Her tone turned from joking to serious as she broached her next question. "I heard about little Jake, I'm so sorry. How's he doing now?"

"Thank you," Neil said tightly. Stevie quickly decided to move on – she'd seen how uncomfortable sympathy about Jake's illness made the DI on prior occasions.

"Good to see you, ma'am," she wished, briefly touching Gina's arm before moving on.

"He's recovering well," Neil continued. "He'll actually be back here in a minute or two – it's a pupil free day at his school, and he didn't mention it to me..."

"Yeah I did, you just forgot," Jake Manson defended himself as he walked back into the office, clutching a can of Coke like a priceless artefact. It was rare that he was allowed to have fizzy drinks at home. He'd long worked out that while outside home, Dad was far more likely to let him have treats, and naturally took advantage of this wherever possible.

"Not so little anymore!" Gina observed with some surprise. "My, you've certainly shot up, young man. You probably don't remember me, I used to work with your dad. I haven't seen you since you were six or so."

Jake grinned. "I was a lot shorter then," he pointed out unnecessarily as he moved next to his dad. "And see, I'm as almost tall as Dad!"

"Nowhere near, little legs," Neil commented in amusement, pushing down on his son's head and forcing him back onto his heels. Shrunken thus, Jake barely topped his father's shoulder. "This is Inspector Gina Gold, she was downstairs in uniform."

"Oh I remember," Jake announced. He frowned, examining Gina closely as Neil's hand fell from his head to around his shoulders. "You look very different without your uniform, Inspector."

"Just call me Gina," a chill ran down Gina's spine at Jake's mannerisms, an exact mirror of his father despite years of living apart. "I've been retired a good couple of years now."

"What do people _do_ in retirement?" Jake wondered aloud, wrinkling his nose. "It sounds wicked boring, especially after working here so long, catching bad guys!"

Gina laughed. "Or you could think of it as a permanent holiday," she suggested. "I've been able to visit my friends, go travelling...it's a lot of fun."

"But don't you get bored?" Jake asked dubiously.

"Sometimes," Gina admitted. "That's why I'm here annoying your Dad."

"An unnecessary measure for today, as I've got a far bigger annoyance right here," Neil's light-hearted comment cut short Jake's laugh.

"Oi," Jake protested mildly, jabbing a finger into Neil's ribs. Neil merely smiled placidly down at him.

Gina had never described herself as a particularly motherly kind of figure: she was certainly not one of those women who tended to congregate around prams, or fall into a gushy mess when confronted with a man holding a small child, but the scene in front of her did warm her heart.

"It's so good to see you so happy, Neil," she said honestly. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this."

He reacted as she thought he would, with an embarrassed kind of cough. Jake merely beamed, hugging his dad around the waist before bounding back to the second chair that had been set up in the office. To cover the slight flush that was spreading across his face, Neil reached for the cup of coffee on his desk, raising it to his lips.

"All we need now," she couldn't resist the urge to tease him, "is to find some nice girl for you to settle down with."

Gina then had to quickly step back as Neil choked on his coffee, brown liquid spraying outward.

"Don't worry, Gina," Jake piped up from the corner. "I'll get him married off."

Gina laughed, watching with glee the very interestingly panicked expression on Neil's face.

"With you involved, I'll be doomed to a life of bachelordom," the DI retorted dryly once he'd stopped coughing, placing his coffee back gingerly and wiping his fingers on a tissue.

"Don't be silly, Dad," Jake scolded. "She loves me."

"She?" Gina exclaimed, probably too loudly from the way she caught a couple of DCs look up in amusement. In fairness, though, she had been in the building _all morning_, and it wasn't like she and Smithy never spoke. How could she _not_ know something as juicy as the DI having a new woman in his life? Why hadn't anyone told her?

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Banksy spoke up, entering the room before either of the Manson's were able to speak. Gina narrowed her eyes at the slight grin on the man's face that practically screamed that the DC was actually all-too-aware of what he was interrupting.

"Banksy," Neil's voice held both immense relief and a stern note of warning.

"Guv," Banksy raised his eyebrows innocently, but obediently held his tongue. Damn. She wouldn't be able to ask Banksy now without Neil being an absolute bitch to the poor man. "Sorry, but the Superintendant has asked for you and Inspector Gold to join him in IBO right away."

"What a shame, we'll have to discuss this later," Neil said hurriedly, throwing a glare at his son. "Say goodbye, Jake."

As she returned Jake's wave and turned to walk downstairs, Gina caught sight of Grace sitting at her desk. There and then, the former uniformed Inspector resolved to speak to Grace before she left today; the younger woman had a good relationship with Neil, and would not be prone to exaggerating or passing unsubstantiated gossip. Yes, Grace would definitely be the best person to ask out about Neil's new lady friend.


	2. Boyhood Crush

**Author's Note: **Wow, thank you all so much for your reviews! I am honestly touched [and somewhat surprised!]. I hope you all enjoy this little scene which, like the first, has no sequel or prior context. It is in no way connected to the previous one.

**Time frame:** The time frames of these scenes will be a bit jumbled. As a brief explanation, I sort of envisaged this particular one taking place a good three years or so into the future. In this future, Neil has been attached for some time to a specialist crime unit that sometimes works out of Sun Hill rather than being based at Sun Hill itself. If you keep that in mind while reading, I think that his [and Grace's] ease with the rest of the team makes a lot more sense.

**Rating:** K, with parental guidance recommended for those readers who don't enjoy fluff. /end lengthy writer's note of doom.

* * *

><p>"Anything?" a bored and somewhat desperate sounding Banksy leaned forward to her side of the desk.<p>

"Nothing whatsoever," Grace sighed, lifting a lukewarm cup of tea to her lips. "You?"

"Nothing," Banksy echoed her sigh. "I think this might be a dead end."

Grace opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly found her vision of the world obscured out by a pair of hands pressing down on her face.

"Guess who?" a poorly disguised voice asked. Grace grinned, boredom entirely forgotten as she relaxed back into her chair.

"Fourth violin?" Grace replied.

"You guessed!" having overestimated his skill at disguising his voice, Jake sounded somewhat disappointed. Nonetheless, he threw his arms around Grace's neck. "Hey, Gracie, what's up?"

"Nothing much, apart from being strangled," Grace said with a smile, turning her head slightly to give Jake a kiss on the cheek as he rested his chin on her shoulder. He chuckled and loosened his grip.

"Hey, Jake," Banksy greeted the boy in a friendly fashion. "Sorry, but I have to ask – fourth violin?"

"Our Middle School band," Jake announced proudly. "We've a concert coming up."

"Speaking of which," Grace interrupted. "Rehearsal finish early today? We'd expected to have to pick you up."

"Yeah," Jake nodded. "We got the piece down pat so Mr Collins gave us an early finish. And I ..."

"Left your keys at home?" Grace asked, amused.

"Something like that," Jake admitted sheepishly. "Anyway, whatcha guys doing?"

"Looking over financial reports," Grace replied unenthusiastically.

"Sounds wicked boring."

"It is," Banksy and Grace spoke in tandem.

"Jake," Mickey did a double-take as he walked past, sounding surprised. "What's happened to you?"

"Eh?" Jake frowned in confusion, straightening up.

"Look at you, lad," Mickey grinned, sizing him up. "Ain't seen you for a few months and all of a sudden you've shot up like a weed!"

Jake beamed, flushing a little under the acne that had begun to appear [much to his disgust].

"Yep," he said in delight. "What was it, Grace? Like, a whole 1.5cm in three months!"

"Closer to one, I thought," Neil said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he approached the knot of people. "Hey, Jake, you're early."

"We finished rehearsal early," Jake explained, hugging his father. "And you're just jealous."

"No, that'd be little Stevie," Mickey chuckled, mocking the sergeant who'd trailed in behind Manson. "Hey, Stevie, I reckon Manson Junior's taller'n you, and he's only what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen in December," Jake muttered, going bright red as Stevie stepped out from behind his dad.

"Oh no," she moaned, eyeing the height. "I reckon it's close."

"You're wearing heels," Grace pointed out in amusement.

"Without them on, Jake's clearly won," Banksy concurred.

Stevie sighed, extending her hand to Jake with a friendly smile. "Ah well, just promise me one thing, Jake?"

"Yeah?" curiously scarlet now, Jake returned the handshake awkwardly.

"Get taller than this git here for me," Stevie said solemnly with a jerk of her head in Mickey's direction.

"Okay," Jake's voice cracked in the middle as they shook on it. He dropped her hand as fast as politely possible, and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Um, Dad, I'm really hungry, I'll go um get something to eat, okay?"

"All right," Neil sounded like he was holding back laughter as Jake immediately raced out the door, tripping slightly as he did.

Grace felt a little guilty for the onslaught of giggles that escaped just as her basically-step-son left the room.

"What's going on?" Stevie looked confused, looking around at the other detectives. Both Manson and Banksy were smirking openly, and Mickey seemed afflicted by the same case of the giggles as Grace.

"Crush, I rather suspect," Banksy said airily, grin broadening. Stevie frowned, shaking her head in surprise.

"On me?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, I suppose he could've picked worse for his first crush," Neil said off-handedly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, gov," Stevie said wryly. "Goodness, what a way to make me feel ancient, though!"

"He's fourteen and this is his first crush? Bless," Banksy said.

"To be fair, he's had a somewhat more stressful entry into adolescence," Grace pointed out quietly.

"And now he's in the wonderful stage where he's just realised girls exist," Mickey said with fond nostalgia colouring his tone. "Great age."

"Oh yeah, so who was your first crush, then?" Bansky asked with a grin.

"Molly Tompkins," Mickey replied immediately. "We was, eleven, maybe? She lived down the lane. Had two blonde pigtails and wore bright red shoes to the park. Who was yours?"

"Ashleigh. I never knew her last name," Banksy said, almost dreamily. "She was in the form above mine, and she had red hair and freckles. She just seemed so tall and confident to me, but I was only thirteen at the time."

"Well, good to know you'd established your type so early," Stevie laughed.

"Somewhat disturbingly," Banksy began, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "I don't think I've ever dated anyone without at least a reddish tinge to their hair!"

"What about you, gov?" Mickey asked. "We certainly know that Jake didn't inherit your taste in women!"

Both Neil and Grace blushed slightly, but their embarrassment was to be confounded by Stevie's next statement.

"I don't know about that," she said mischievously. "At the very least, he's inherited your taste for older women!"

"Thanks for that, Stevie," Grace said sarcastically as Mickey and Bansky laughed and Neil reddened further.

"Well, go on, guv," Banksy urged. "Mickey and I shared ours."

"It's a good story," Grace said, smirking at her partner.

"How do _you_ know about it?" Neil yelped in surprise.

"You really need a less talkative best friend," Grace said innocently, to which Neil began muttering about ways of dispatching former-best-friends. "Now, according to Rick, you were fourteen –"

"Oh fine," Neil grumped, figuring that he'd rather control the version of the story that got passed around the station. "My first crush was on my 20-something year old Maths teacher."

"Maths teacher?" Mickey asked incredulously before laughing.

"Oh shut up," Neil said half-heartedly. "She was really very nice, and coped admirably with a class of all boys."

"Brunette, gov?" Banksy asked, his own amusement plain.

"What else?" Neil asked with an air of resignation, to more chuckles.

"What else, what?" Jake re-entered, holding a large chocolate bar.

"Oh, just criminals doing stupid things," Neil hastily dismissed his son's question. "Come on, lad, we're working from the briefing room today." He clapped a hand to Jake's shoulder, quickly steering him away from the still-sniggering officers.


	3. Manson's Monthly Cycle

**Author's Note: **Thank you all again for your reviews. I'm marking this story as complete - not necessarily because there will be no further chapters, but because I will only be posting them very sporadically from hereon in.

**Rating:** K

* * *

><p>"Is it this month that the DI's not back till Tuesday?" Banksy asked.<p>

"Next," Grace replied, looking up over their joining desks, pausing to add, "provided it all went smoothly, that is."

"Why does it change?" Mickey asked curiously. "How can they predict that?"

"Every second month Jake needs a lumbar puncture," Grace replied quietly. "This month he doesn't."

"Lumbar puncture?" Banksy's question was echoed in the confusion readily apparent across Mickey's face.

"Spinal tap," Grace explained. "They stick a needle between his vertebrae to get the CSF – the spinal fluid."

"Wouldn't that hurt the nerves?" Mickey looked even more confused. Grace smiled bitterly.

"Hence the extra day off," Banksy guessed. Grace nodded.

"In one," she said, double-checking her desk and hefting her handbag onto her shoulder. She had to get home early tonight. "Why the sudden curiosity in Jake's medical treatment?"

"Well, Stevie should be off tomorrow," Banksy raised his voice pointedly. The small Sergeant didn't even bother to protest, instead reaching for another tissue. Mickey made a face as she blew her nose loudly.

"And the other reason's incoming," Mickey said almost sulkily. Grace looked around, and had to fight back a smile as the doors to CID banged open. Max swaggered through, whistling tunelessly as he made straight for the briefing room.

"Plus, the DI's usually in his best mood when he comes back," Banksy said.

"Yeah, it's the high point of his monthly cycle," Mickey chortled, eliciting a laugh from Banksy and even a weak smile from the miserable Stevie.

"I think the degeneration to PMS jokes is my cue to leave," Grace said wryly as Mickey, and somewhat surprisingly, Banksy, began swapping them. It was a little harder for Grace to find talk about his cycle funny when she could tie it directly to how ill Jake was.

"We didn't mean to offend you, Grace," Banksy said hastily, looking worried. Mickey, less concerned about insulting the DI, still pasted an attempt at an apologetic expression.

"You didn't," she said, mustering all her cheer to assure her friend. "I've never found PMS jokes made by men to be particularly amusing, that's all."

"Fair enough," the apologetic expression dropped immediately from Mickey's face, and he gave her a cheeky smile. "Say hi to the DI for us."

Banksy smirked as Grace rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

"Good night, Stevie," she wished the blonde, being sure to stay a safe distance. "Hope you get better soon!"

"Thanks, Grace," Stevie replied.

* * *

><p>"I'll be down soon, I'll just have a shower," Grace called out as she entered the house. Despite having consciously avoided being in close proximity to Stevie all morning, she couldn't be too careful in minimising the risk of Jake catching something off her. So, she took extra care to wash properly in the shower, before redescending to the lounge. Despite the difficulties sometimes involved in moving Jake from the lounge upstairs to his room, the boys almost always spent the afternoon of his hospital visit downstairs to give him a change of scenery.<p>

A huge grin spread across her face as she saw the lounge. It was in a state of organised chaos: chairs had been brought in from the dining room and placed near the TV. A big sheet had been tied to the chair, and pulled back to the couches, while two other sheets draped over to complete the blanket fort.

Neil had obviously been busy that afternoon.

"Hello the fort?" she said in amusement, picking her way through the discarded cushions.

"Gracie!" Jake sounded tired, but a lot calmer than the bundle of nerves he'd been that morning. She peeked through the entrance, smile growing as she saw Neil sitting up against the couch, a reading light sitting on the couch proper providing enough light for him to read. Jake was lying on his stomach with his head pillowed on his dad's thigh, comfortably ensconced in blankets.

"Go all right?" she asked sympathetically, making her way in at Jake's tilt of the head.

He shrugged. "Only there for four hours today," he said, sounding tired. The first Friday of every month always brought paradoxical feelings. Jake and Neil would have to go into the hospital early, and wait until Jake could be given his vincristine. It was a medicine that he only needed once a month, but it had to be given intravenously. The side effects would be with him for the next seven days or so, and made the most miserable week of Jake's monthly medication cycle.

The first day of his vincristine was always the day Jake felt sickest, and coupled with his hospital visit, it made for the most dreaded day of the month. Still, because it _was _the worst day, once it was all over everyone felt wearily relieved: things were going to improve steadily until the next vincristine appointment became imminent.

"You're just in time for the good bit. They're in the Mines of Moria and Gandalf's about to- well, you know," Jake brought her up to date.

It had become a tradition that _The Lord of the Rings_ would only ever be read during or after Jake's chemo.

"All right then," Grace sat down in the spot Jake indicated, just next to him, ducking carefully to avoid upsetting the structure.

"Hey, Grace," Neil smiled wearily, leaning across Jake to give her a swift kiss.

"Ew," Jake said, but his complaint was half-hearted, and undermined by the small smile on his face.

"_From out of the shadow a red sword leapt flaming_," Neil began in an ominous voice.

* * *

><p>"I'll get the morphine," Grace volunteered quickly as Neil shut the book with a snap, chapter over.<p>

Neil mock-glared at her, eyeing with trepidation the way out, which was littered by obstacles such as pillows, game controllers, the coffee table, more cushions... Jake had wanted a blanket fort, and Neil hadn't really thought terribly far ahead about how he was going to carry the boy out.

"This is going to be tricky," he thought aloud.


	4. Missed

**Author's Note**: The next few chapters will be scenes deleted from _Courage to Suffer. _While they will be posted in a roughly chronological order, the reason these scenes were excluded was because they were 'dead ends' so to speak - there is no context for them beyond what is written. There may not be full consistency between them, and each scene should be read as complete in itself.

First up, the visual of Stevie's actions in this chapter quite took my fancy, as did Neil's reaction to them.

* * *

><p>"And of course, as it's been confirmed as murder by Eddie, DCI Manson's team will be coming in," the Superintendant continued as they walked down the corridor.<p>

"Will DCI Manson himself be coming, or will one of his other officers be here?" Rachel asked eagerly. _Too eagerly_, she chided herself when she saw Meadows' face furrow in puzzlement.

"No, I spoke to him just before. He should be here shortly," Jack said as they headed up the stairs.

Rachel had been debating whether or not to call Neil for the couple of weeks. She'd now been at Sun Hill as DI for over a month, and had found herself floundering despite her year away working in human trafficking. She'd chalked the first two weeks down to settling in nerves, but it had persisted beyond what she felt was reasonable.

They were just out of control in CID! Thank goodness for Max, though, he kept them more manageable for her. She had never noticed Stevie's propensity to chat endlessly, Mickey's propensity for pranks [which were increasingly unfunny], Terry's apparent animosity towards Max. Nor could she escape the feeling that she was being let out of some great joke. Many were the times she'd walked in to find them all sniggering away, except for Grace who always seemed frustrated with her colleagues' lack of professionalism.

Still, even when they were the same rank she'd always found Neil Manson somewhat intimidating. On his good days, he had been quite helpful, but his moods were legendary. As Neil was coming in anyway, this might be the perfect opportunity to casually discuss the complete chaos of CID's personnel.

* * *

><p>"CID's been positively pining for you," Smithy said only half-jokingly as the two men ascended the stairs.<p>

"Teething problems?" Neil picked up on the edge in the young Inspector's tone. Smithy paused at the landing, checking for eavesdroppers.

"Between you and me, more than just teething problems," he said quietly. "You'll see...but Max has, well, he's kind of dominating CID at the moment. I tell you this because I hope you might find a way to ... uh..."

"Yeah," Neil nodded, the two men falling silent as a PC passed them on the stairs with a curious look.

"Anyway," Smithy continued teasingly as they resumed heading up the stairs. "Wouldn't you have already been told this by a certain someone?"

Neil stiffened reflexively at the innuendo, carefully replying, "Oh, I hear about her day, but she never complains about anyone specifically."

Sensing he'd obviously hit a nerve, Smithy accepted the explanation easily. "See you around," he said instead, heading off to Eddie's lab. Neil returned the farewell, before pushing open the all-too-familiar doors to CID.

"Governor!" a chorus greeted him, and he found himself being clutched around the waist by a familiar small blonde sergeant in a tight hug.

"Uh, hi, Stevie?" Neil said awkwardly while the others laughed at his uncomfortable expression. He gingerly patted the small woman on the back, and Stevie let go, beaming up at him.

"Welcome back, Detective Chief 'Spector," she said cheerfully. "Blimey, what a mouthful!"

"I've only been gone a month or so," Neil commented dryly.

"We'd forgotten how much trouble training a new boss was," Mickey said with a grin.

"How's MIT suiting you so far, governor?" Banksy asked, pressing forward.

"We've not heard any news," Terry commented with a sidelong glance at Grace, who had remained at her desk, content to observe her boyfriend's grand entrance with amusement.

Neil arched an eyebrow. "While it's nice to be back in the company of the mostly competent, perhaps we should focus on our dead body instead of small talk and gossip," he said acerbically. Face softening slightly, he added, "But I trust we can share a pint after work and you can all regale me with your exploits then, eh?"

Without further ado, he headed into the briefing room with only a brief nod to Grace.


	5. Housewarming

"Who's a good boy?" Mickey cooed as he rubbed Casper's ears. The dog wagged his tail in delight.

"As if he's not spoiled enough," Grace commented ruefully from the kitchen. She'd finally given into Jo and Stevie's repeated demands for a housewarming, and so, she'd invited the main group over for a very belated celebration of her new living arrangements. Stevie was helping her finish the salads, while the others milled around between the fridge [and its supply of alcoholic beverages] and the grill outside..

Suddenly, Casper whined, growing tense under Mickey's hands. A car door slammed in the distance. Mickey quickly removed his hands as the dog began barking madly and rushed towards the front door.

"DAD'S HOME!" Jake hollered from upstairs.

A few seconds later, a tired-looking Neil Manson proved the boy [and dog's] predictions right, stepping into the house. He barely had time to set down his briefcase before Jake, whose feet had pounded madly down the stairs, flung himself at his father's neck.

"DADDY!" he exclaimed happily as Neil grunted upon taking the boy's weight. Casper barked madly in excitement, prancing around the pair.

"Hey, son," Neil freed a hand to give Casper a rough, cursory pat on the head. "How was your day?"

"Good," Jake replied as he was set down. Neil slung an arm around the boy as the pair slowly walked into the house, trailed by the dog. "How was yours? Catch the bad guys?"

"We always do," his father replied lightly as they entered the kitchen. His tone changed subtly as he addressed his girlfriend, who'd turned to face the odd procession. "Heeey, Grace. Sorry I'm late."

"That's okay," Grace replied. She would normally have given him a quick kiss in greeting, but given she could practically feel her colleagues' eyes boring holes through her, she settled for a smile.

"Can I help with anything?" he asked.

"No, have a drink and be entertaining. Terry's out by the grill already," Grace nodded outside, with its many pairs of eyes fixed on the couple in the kitchen. Neil nodded, shot a quick glare at a beaming Stevie, and dispatched a more than willing Jake to the fridge to fetch him a beer.

"Evening," he stepped outside, exchanging handshakes with all of his former colleagues and a peck on a cheek for Banksy's wife, Naomi.

"Busy day, guv?" Terry asked, seeing the strain in the DCI's eyes.

"I think we can probably drop the titles, eh, Terry?" Neil said dryly. " A small hand pressed a cold beer into his own, and he looked down to his beautiful, beanie-wearing son.

"Thanks, mate," he said, bending down to lightly kiss Jake's forehead. Jake made a face, and pretended to squirm away.

* * *

><p>"So, Neil," Terry said casually, voice low. Neil raised an eyebrow. "When are you going to make an honest woman out of her, eh?"<p>

"Since when did you turn into the old aunt in the corner worrying about everyone else living in sin?" Neil replied mildly, taking another sip of his beer. Banksy, the only one close enough to hear their conversation, smirked.

"She's my friend, and I don't want to see her get hurt," Terry said protectively. "She's a good sort, Grace."

"You don't have to tell me that," Neil said, more sharply. "Anyway, she can take care of herself, Terry."

"So you're not planning to tie the knot?" Banksy asked, curious for gossip.

"Words fail to express how incredibly not-your-business this matter is," Neil replied firmly. "The only person other than Grace I'd even deign to discuss this with is my son."

As if on cue, Jake poked his head through the door.

"Daddy?" he said. "Can you give me a quick hand with one of my maths questions?" His father nodded, shooting a second warning glare at Terry and Bansky, before heading inside.


	6. Injured

_Thank you Knortho and Feebee for your continued feedback :) _

_As a brief reminder - this is set in my little world a few months after Neil's transferred to MIT and Rachel Weston appointed DI at Sun Hill._

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Jack demanded over the phone.<p>

"We went in for the raid," Rachel explained wearily, staring at the now-empty garage. "We'd secured most of the workshop, but then one of the suspects jumped out from behind one of the cars and swung a tyre iron at Grace."

"Jesus," Jack slumped at his desk. "What's her status?"

"I don't know," Rachel replied miserably. "The paramedics have rushed her to St Hugh's. I'm about to follow.'

Jack sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

"Anyway, I will need to notify her next of kin –"Rachel began. Jack immediately cut her off.

"No, it'll be better coming from me," he said categorically. "No prizes for guessing he won't take this well. Update me if anything changes"

_He_? Rachel frowned in confusion, wracking her brain for any mention Grace may have made of a partner.

* * *

><p>"Where is she?" Neil Manson demanded, striding up to Rachel and Terry. Rachel frowned, opening her mouth to question his presence.<p>

"They've literally just moved her to surgery, governor," Terry said quickly and sympathetically. He gestured towards a young doctor who was leaning up against the central nurses' desk with a file. "Dr Liam Coulthard over there-"

Before he could finish that sentence, Neil strode directly towards the younger man.

"What is he doing here?" Rachel demanded in surprise, confused by Terry's easy acceptance of the DCI's presence.

Terry's head snapped around to face her in surprise.

"He and Grace are...uh...have been together a while," he said carefully. "Must be close to two years now."

"What?" Rachel spluttered. She'd been at Sun Hill for nearly five months and _nobody had bothered to tell her_? Rachel couldn't help feeling a twinge of betrayal; all that time she'd felt like Grace was the only person in her new department who wasn't desperately wishing for the DCI to return and yet she was seeing the man!

"What the _hell_ happened?" Neil Manson spat as he bore back down on them, leaving Dr Coulthard standing at the desk looking like he'd been hit be a tornado.

"You and _Grace_?" was the only thing Rachel seemed able to say. Actually, as the surprise at her words set Neil back a step, she found her anger growing. "How did I not know about this? I'm her superior officer, for heaven's sake –"

"If you'd bothered to read her file, you'd see me down as the next of kin," Neil snapped back. "Anyway, what happened to land her in surgery with a ruptured spleen?"

Rachel couldn't help but be glad that Terry quickly explained the situation, drawing Neil's attention from her in the process. Just as Manson seemed to be gearing up for another rant, the young doctor interrupted the conversation.

"Mr Manson," he said with grim determination. "I understand you're Ms Dasari's partner?"

"Yes," Neil snapped.

"In that case, I'd like to ask you a few questions to confirm her medical history –"

"She's allergic to penicillin, she had asthma as a kid but not now, she's doesn't take any regular medications although when she gets headaches she takes a couple of aspirin," Neil fluently rattled off. The young doctor looked a little taken aback at the onslaught of information, but took the older man's arm and adroitly directed him just out of earshot of Terry and Rachel. From the strangely tense look that passed across Neil's face at that moment, Terry was sure his former boss was glad that the doctor had done so.

"No, there's no chance she's pregnant," Neil said quietly around the tightness in his throat.

"She's not on any contraceptive agents..." Dr Coulthard said gently.

"Uh, she," Neil scratched the back of his neck. "She had a miscarriage, I think thirteen years ago, before we were together. Her doctors told her then that due to the scarring it would be very unlikely she'd ever be able to...uh...properly conceive...but uh, ectopic pregnancy's still possible so we er, we use other protection instead..." His voice trailed off, but the young doctor was nodding anyway.

"Sorry to press you on it," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "But obviously it's an important thing to check as she goes into surgery."

* * *

><p>"What's the news?" Jo asked, sitting down next to the DCI without any ceremony. He started, but continued staring blankly at the floor after glancing briefly at her.<p>

"Still in surgery," he said absently.

"Still?" Jo huffed in frustration. The raid had been scheduled for early in the shift, so she'd worked a full day worrying about her best friend before getting to the hospital. Jo felt a renewed sympathy for Neil, who'd been there since the Super had called him. She softened her tone as she asked, "Has there been _any _news?"

"No," he sighed, looking up properly at her. "One of the nurses did confirm it was a ruptured spleen, and that they were trying to remove only part of it, but ..."

"She's been in there, what, five hours now?" Jo could hear her own worry. Neil merely grunted.

"Neil," an unfamiliar voice had them both looking up, to see a plump, worried Indian matron scurrying along the corridor towards them.

"Namaste, Mrs Dasari," Neil was on his feet in a flash, and quickly found himself in a warm embrace. Jo watched with a mixture of amusement and surprise as Neil greeted Grace's parents. Mrs Dasari had eventually released him, but had kept hold of one arm, leaving Neil free to exchange an obviously stilted handshake with Grace's stern-looking father.

"Namaste, Mr Dasari," Neil's Hindi seemed clumsy, even to Jo's untrained ears, but she had to admit she was impressed he'd obviously been making the effort.

"Who's this?" Grace's father ignored the greeting, focussing a displeased glare on Jo. Jo let the man's disapproval wash over her; it was obvious that Mr Dasari disapproved of almost everything Neil Manson did or said.

"This is DC Jo Masters," Neil introduced her as Jo stood. "She's a friend of Grace's from work."

"Jo, yes, we've heard a lot about you," Mrs Dasari, despite the tears that threatened, still mustered up a genuinely friendly smile for the other woman. She directed a sharp glance at her husband, "You remember?"

"Yes, yes," Mr Dasari's expression softened marginally, and he even shook Jo's hand before his face and voice hardened again. "Now, Neil, what happened?"

"As I explained on the phone," Neil began, the weariness in his tone barely disguising a touch of irritation. Jo had to restrain a smile as Mrs Dasari rolled her eyes at her.

"Where's Jake?" Mrs Dasari asked with genuine concern when Neil had repeated the tale. "I'm sure Anita could watch him if needed."

"My sister's looking after him," Neil answered. "But thank you."

"How is he doing?" to Jo's surprise, it was Grace's father who asked. Evidently, the antipathy towards Neil had not extended to Jake.

"All right," Neil replied. "He wanted to be here, but I don't want him anywhere near sick people."

"Absolutely right," Mrs Dasari said fervently.

The ensuing silence stretched on for what seemed like forever, and just as Jo felt she couldn't stand it, an interruption came in the form of a scrub-clad surgeon, pointed their way by the nurse at the desk.

"I'm Doctor Jill McCourt," she said, looking over the motley group. "I operated on Ms Dasari."

"I'm her partner, Neil Manson," Neil spoke up quickly. "These are her parents, and Jo Masters, a friend of Grace's from work."

Dr McCourt's gaze zeroed in on Neil, as the obvious choice for next of kin. "Mr Manson, a word?"

It didn't escape the tired surgeon's attention that Mrs Dasari had to restrain an obviously irritated father from going after them, but she dismissed it quickly. Internal family politics were none of her affair, and she was only to speak to the next-of-kin.

"She's out of surgery," she began without preamble. "The trauma to her abdomen had caused a fairly major blood vessel within her spleen to rupture, resulting in the internal bleeding picked up by the ultrasound. We were able to salvage part of the spleen, but nearly two-thirds had to be removed. We've replaced the blood loss, and she's currently coming around in post-op."

"Okay," Neil nodded, relief flooding him. "What are the consequences?"

"The spleen plays an important role in the immune system," he was informed crisply. "While the overwhelming majority of patients don't have any life-threatening consequences, they _are _more susceptible to infections. We'll discuss after her recovery what this means in more detail –"

"My son has leukaemia, it's in remission but he's still having maintenance therapy," Neil blurted out. "Will it be like that, the precautions we'll need I mean?"

Sympathy flickered in the surgeon's eyes. "Somewhat similar as I understand the current guidelines for treating leukaemia," she said more gently. "The precautions will likely not be as robust, as it's only a partial splenectomy."

"Okay," Neil nodded. They could deal with that. "How long will she be kept in?"

"A minimum of two days," the surgeon replied. "You'll be familiar with the hospital system, so I hope you understand why I can't give you an exact discharge date."

Neil nodded. "When can I see her?" he asked somewhat plaintively.

"Soon," he was informed. "The anaesthetist, Dr Rajah, is just performing a post-operative check. He or one of the nurses will collect you when you can see her."

* * *

><p>"Soon" turned out to be more than half an hour later. Jo had left, after eliciting a promise from Neil to give her best wishes [and those of the rest of her Sun Hill colleagues] to Grace. Mr Dasari had practically worn a hole in the carpet; and Jack had phoned for a full update.<p>

"Mr Manson?" a sharp-nosed man in scrubs beckoned. Neil was on his feet immediately.

"I'm sorry," Dr Rajah, as his scrubs proudly proclaimed him, said to Grace's parents. "Only one visitor at a time until she's transferred to the wards." Mr Dasari scowled, but reluctantly stopped hurrying after Neil.

"She's a bit groggy at the moment," the doctor warned Neil as they walked quickly across the post-op area. "But she's doing well, considering."

"He-ey," Neil said gently, forcing himself not to wince at the array of tubes going into his beloved. He took her hand, and gently brushed the hair from her eyes and was rewarded with an answering smile.

* * *

><p>"How'd you two end up doing my statement?" Grace asked suspiciously as Jo and Stevie smiled broadly at her, notebooks open and pens at the ready.<p>

"Pulled a few strings," Stevie said unrepentantly.

"She means she begged in a most undignified manner," Jo contributed.

"You were right next to me, as I recall," Stevie retorted good-naturedly.

"Ow, don't make me laugh," Grace hissed in pain, clutching at her side.

"Sorry," Stevie said apologetically, leaning on the end of Grace's bed. "Are you able to do this now or should we come back?"

"No, I'm fine," Grace replied. Rolling her eyes at their sceptical expressions, she pressed on, "Really. They've just given me some more painkillers. It's just if I laugh or cough."

"Grace the druggo, who'd a thought it?" Stevie said with a smile. "All right, if you're sure."

Grace was half-way through her account when the door to her private room opened. She'd been given a private room as a result of the reduced immune system she now had thanks to the surgery and the serendipitous discharge of the room's previous occupant only an hour before she'd left theatre. Neil, dressed in civvies, ignored the two on-duty officers in the room completely, making a beeline for his girlfriend.

Grace gladly embraced him, pressing a kiss to his lips as Stevie and Jo looked away awkwardly from the normally non-demonstrative couple.

"Jake get to school okay?" she murmured.

"Yeah," Neil's reply was muffled, speaking as he was into her shoulder. He drew back slightly, allowing Jo and Stevie to hear his next words more clearly. "He's determined to bring you Thai Garden for tea. I told him we'd see whether you felt up to spicy food."

"I'd usually jump at the chance for take-out from there," Grace replied honestly. "But bland food's never been more appealing."

Neil smiled. "Did you get a chance for a nap?" he asked with concern.

"You only went to drop Jake off an hour and a half ago!" Grace rolled her eyes, then nodded to the two officers, still standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. "Then these two showed up."

"Want me to get rid of them for you?" Neil said, shifting so he was half-facing the two. Stevie and Jo exchanged an amused grin at his overprotectiveness.

"No, no, they're okay," Grace said hastily. "They need the statement."

Neil levelled a glare that both of his former subordinates immediately understood to mean that they would be leaving if Grace even hinted at changing her mind.

"Okay," he said, making to move off the bed and sit in the chair next to it. Grace clutched onto his arm, pointedly shuffling over a tiny bit. He took the hint and carefully settled himself next to her on the edge of her bed. Clearing his throat and glaring at Stevie who was smirking openly now, he waved his free hand and commanded, "carry on."

* * *

><p><em>I realise my stories predominantly consist of Grace playing the supportive role as Neil goes through one of his crises. While I kind of favour that idea of their relationship, given how melodramatic and passive-aggressive the character of Neil is, I did like the idea of one day writing something where the roles were reversed. This is the beginning part of that story. I envisaged Grace having a mild form of PTSDanxiety as a result of her injury [the splenic rupture was designed to be only part of the injury – the full version of events which Neil was to later find out about would've had her actually isolated and on her own with her assailant before back-up arrived. While no sexual assault occurred, she got a very big fright]. The story would've revolved around how she deals with her frustration over flashbacks to an incident which she rationally considers to be relatively minor. I also liked the idea of challenging Neil in the sense that he would've needed to be very supportive of Grace during a crisis that he largely lacks the emotional intelligence to understand. The secondary storyline in this story would've been about Rachel, and her inadequacies as a DI. While not objectively _directly_ to blame for Grace's injury, her fellow officers and definitely Neil would have blamed her. I will never write this story – it is firmly in the too-hard basket due to the difficulty of writing about PTSD/anxiety but here is this unfinished and half-written snippet anyway._


	7. Awkward questions

_Thank you for your reviews, Knortho and Maddie. To answer your question, there's three more stray scenes to come._

* * *

><p>"Daddy?" Jake asked, worming his way deeper into the covers his father had just tucked around him. It had been a long day at the hospital.<p>

"Yeah, mate?" Neil replied, sitting back down on the bed.

"When are you and Grace getting married?" he asked curiously. He couldn't restrain the smile that threatened as he saw his father splutter in surprise.

"What - I - where did this come from?" his dad asked.

"She's been living with us for more than a year now," Jake pointed out. Jeez, did Dad think he was dumb or something?

"Do you want us not to get married?" Neil felt like he was floundering a little. He hadn't expected Jake to ask this question.

"I like Grace," Jake frowned. "Don't you want to marry her?"

"Yeah, I do," Neil said honestly.

"Then why don't you ask her? Will she say no?" Jake's mind began whirring with ways to convince Grace to say yes.

"I think," Neil paused, trying to think of the best way to put it delicately. "I think you shouldn't ask someone to marry you, to make that commitment, if getting married to them isn't the thing you want most in the world."

"Huh?" _Why did Dad always have to make things so complicated?_ Jake mused.

"What I want most in the world is for you to be finished with this chemo, and well again," Neil smiled indulgently.

"So you can't marry Grace," Jake nodded. He guessed that was fair enough. He paused, torn between his innate curiosity and a strange desire to not know the answer. His curiosity won out. "You and mum didn't want to get married more than anything, did you?"

Dad shook his head minutely. Jake, by now used to the idea his mum and dad didn't love each other any more [and hadn't for more years than they'd been divorced], sighed heavily but quickly focussed his attention to the matter at hand.

"So when I finish the chemo, you'll ask?" he pressed.

Neil nodded. "All things being equal, kid," he said. "Why do you want us to get married?"

Parents were _so _dumb sometimes. "Saying: 'Grace is my dad's girlfriend, she lives with us' is a lot longer than saying 'Grace is my step-mum'," Jake explained patiently.

Dad smiled. "Well, between you and me, she might not say yes, she might not want to marry _anyone_. But I'm pretty sure she won't mind if you just call her your step-mum anyway. Nobody else is going to know or mind if we aren't actually married."

"That's a good idea!" Jake exclaimed, somewhat surprised it had come from Dad.


	8. Stars

_This was an experimental piece - I wanted to try writing in a different style and this was the result._

* * *

><p>It's dark. The smog of the city obscures most of the stars, and only the very brightest and most determined peek through. He's warm and comfortable, though, in the dim circle of light created by the lamps Grace had found at some home improvement shop and insisted on buying for their barbeque area.<p>

She shoots him a concerned glance now, nudging his leg with hers. He merely shakes his head minutely, lightly rubbing her shoulder with the hand slung across the back of her chair in response. She smiles briefly, and returns to the buzz of the conversation around them.

It's one of the things he loves about her, her understanding. There'd been fights after the first few times she'd invited her guys from Sun Hill for dinner in that little CID group tradition of getting together every month or so. She'd been angry at his silence, at the way he'd sit back and not interact. He'd never been able to explain to her satisfaction. It had only been after his best friend's family had come over and he'd acted in the same way that she'd started to realise what was going on.

Truth is, sometimes he just doesn't like talking to people. He can, and does, play the perfect entertaining host when he feels like it, but often he is genuinely just as content to sit back and let the conversation wash over him, exhausted by the effort of interacting. It's one of the reasons he doesn't mind his insomnia as much as he might; it gives him an opportunity to sit up in the late night, ostensibly working, but in reality just staring out the window lost in thoughts about nothing.

They've been involved in the hosting rotation for nearly a year now. Neil rarely goes to the other dinners, instead preferring to stay in and have some good old dad-son time. He's not really surprised to find he rarely gets tired of it, despite spending several days a month exclusively caring for his son as he goes through the chemo. The chemo's hard, but he never tires of Jake's company [even if Jake can't say the same of his old dad]. At any rate, he doesn't much care if the others dismiss his quietness for sulkiness or moodiness so long as they're content to let him continue to half-smile at Stevie's jokes, or grunt in response to Banksy's tales without challenging him for something more.

He tunes back into the conversation when he realises it's Terry's turn to tell a story, and he's telling one of his favourite ones. Neil suspects the true humour of the tale involving Phil Hunter in uniform is somewhat lost on Mickey's protégé, the young DC who's been a recent addition to the group. The young man had been obviously taken aback to realise that 'Grace's Neil' was the same Neil who had ordered him around on a murder case three weeks previously, and had spent most of the night being anxiously overpolite. The wild tales being spun by everyone at the table, and the two beers are beginning to loosen him up.

Conditioned by years on the job, the scream that rips through the night has half the table on their feet . Neil presses his fingers into Grace's shoulder as she reflexively makes to follow him, gesturing for her to remain. As he hurries through the house, he is grateful for her quiet explanation to the others as they slowly resume their seats. He takes the stairs two at a time, and nudges a whining Casper away from Jake's closed door [emblazoned proudly with a poster of Frank Lampard] so he can open it.

"Jakey," he says, stumbling over the boy's schoolbag and half-falling onto his bed. His son is sitting bolt-upright in bed, eyes open, screams still issuing from a throat that will be sore in the morning. Neil gently touches the boy's shoulder [shaking him only makes it worse], and urges quietly, "Wake up, son, I'm here now, it's okay."

Jake comes to himself, blinking a couple of times as he finally ceases the screaming that will have Mrs Potter from next door baking him his favourite cupcakes.

"Daddy," he sobs, flinging his arms around Neil's neck in a vice-like grip Neil is forced to gingerly pry loose in order to maintain his own airway. Neil murmurs soothing words, rubbing Jake's back as tears drip down his shirt.

"Was it the usual nightmare?" he asks quietly as Jake's sobs begin to subside. The boy nods, arms tightening once more. A creak from the floorboard next to him has Neil looking over to see Grace's profile outlined by the street-lamp outside Jake's window. Setting a small glass down on Jake's bedside table and flicking on his lamp, she sits down on the other side of Jake's bed and wraps her arms around them both. Jake shifts a little to acknowledge her presence.

None of them are sure how long they've been sitting there when Grace finally draws back.

"There's some warm milk on the table," she says quietly, smoothing Jake's hair down. "Call if you need anything."

Neil holds his son tightly for one more long moment, savouring the feel of the small boy in his arms and the smell of the strawberry shampoo Jake loves for its unsurpassed frothiness. He coaxes Jake to drink the milk, and sings under his breath while stroking the boy's hair until Jake's soft snores once again fill the room. Satisfied his son is safely asleep again, Neil stands to leave. Casper twitches an ear almost impertinently as Neil regards the dog stretched out on Jake's bed [he doesn't like Casper on the bed; dog hairs get everywhere and Neil hates it when Casper tries to climb into bed with him and Grace].

He decides to leave Casper there just this once. He stands in the doorway, watching the dog and boy's chests rise slowly and evenly by the light of the lamp. Jake likes having the lamp left on after his nightmares.

Neil stumbles back down the stairs, and opens the hall closet. Groping blindly along the top shelf, his fingers finally close upon the crumpled plastic packet he keeps there for times like this. He knows that if he goes outside and does this Grace will glare at him disapprovingly and he'll have to answer a barrage of questions so the kitchen it is. Anyway, he doesn't want them to see how badly his hands are shaking, that the tobacco falls right out of the filter paper. He takes a deep breath and starts again. He's not sure if it's a little melodramatic of him, suspects it is, but it breaks his heart to see his son so scared.

It scares him too. The doctors can fix the physical stuff _[he hopes]_ but the mental stuff? How long will Jake have these nightmares [a product of his parents' divorce and emotional inaccessibility and a chronic, often fatal disease] about being abandoned in a hospital to die?

Turning his mind to this problem has helped, and his hands have completed the familiar task of rolling the cigarette. He groans as after a few minutes of searching he spots the lighter on the table outside. So much for avoiding scrutiny. He steps back outside.

"All right, gov?" Banksy's eyes aren't the only ones regarding him with concern that's more for his son as Neil steps outside.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence," he says dismissively, leaning across Jo to grab the lighter.

"Didn't know you smoked," Mickey said in surprise.

"I don't," Neil muttered. "Not really."

"Neil -" Grace begins in a warning tone. She hates it when he smokes, and he knew he was going to be forced to brush his teeth at least a dozen times tonight.

"I'm going," Neil says quickly.

His hands shake badly now, deprived of a clear task and he fumbles with the lighter as he leans against the side of his house. He eventually gets it, and his hands begin to still as he takes a deep drag on the cigarette.

He knows it's a bad habit, but he's been doing it on and off since the day a friend had smuggled his father's tobacco into the fifth form dorm. It is a habit, despite a disapproving wife and now a disapproving girlfriend, to keep a small pouch of the stuff somewhere for occasions of high stress. Even Jake's fury when he'd discovered Neil's habit six months previously hadn't been able to stop Neil from having the odd cigarette to calm his nerves.

The end of the cigarette burns brightly against the sky, dangerously close now to his fingers. With a deep sigh, Neil stabbs it into the dirt, digging a small grave for it in the soft ground with the tip of his shoe. He lingers a moment longer, before furiously wiping his eyes and heading back into the lit, warm area near the barbeque full of conversation.


	9. Jake's Future

_Author's Note: Here are two disconnected drabbles. They're both so short I've just uploaded them together. Thank you all who reviewed – glad you liked the style I had played with for the last chapter. I miscounted - there will be two more pieces after this update._

* * *

><p><em>Year: 2014<em>

"Oi, Grace," Jo called over the bustle of CID packing up. Her friend looked up immediately. "There's a couple of lads in the front office for you..."

Grace grabbed her coat, and began to rush downstairs. Neil still hadn't texted her about the results, and she hoped that was a good thing. With Jo close behind her [and half of CID behind _her, _having earlier worked out the significance of the day], Grace pushed open the door into the front office.

And was promptly bowled over by five-feet-five-inches of a rapidly growing, obviously excited Jake Manson.

"Gracie!" he exclaimed loudly, and Grace could hear the grin in his voice even as he half-crushed her in his embrace. Even without Jake's exuberance, Grace would've known how the results had come back from Neil's expression. Leaning against the wall, her boyfriend wore a rare genuine, if small, smile and his eyes were glassy.

"Hey darling," Grace hugged her sort-of-stepson back. "It went well then?"

Jake beamed, pulling back and rapidly unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Look!" he proclaimed, pointing at the place where a Hickman line of thin rubber tubes had protruded from his chest for the chemotherapy. In its place now sat a simple white bandage that lay flat against the boy's chest. "They took out my line!"

No words could express Grace's joy, so she merely hugged Jake again.

"So proud of you, honey," she said sincerely. "You've been so brave and strong."

"We couldn't have done it without you," Jake whispered back, hugging her tighter.

"So you're all clear?" Stevie asked with a smile for the boy, who blushed slightly and rapidly rebuttoned his shirt.

"No more chemo," he said simply, and joyously. "I'm in remission."

"Not cured?" Mickey couldn't hide his confusion surely the word was cured, right, if Jake didn't need treatment?

"You never really get cured of cancer," Jake's exuberance fell a bit as he glanced back at his dad. Neil pushed off the wall and walked over to the group, resting his hand on Jake's shoulder.

"That being said," Neil added. "Dr Lawson says after seven years our risk of relapse approaches zero and we're halfway to that point."

"The important thing," Jake said with determined happiness. "Is I don't have to go into hospital all the time any more. I can play football at school because I won't be tired and everyone won't be obsessing about pulling out the line."

As Jake's friends in CID crowded around to give congratulatory hugs, kisses on the cheek and manly handshakes [from Terry, Banksy and Mickey], Grace slipped an arm around Neil's waist.

"Okay?" she asked, seeing him wipe at his eyes.

"Never better," he said, smile broadening as he looked down to her. "I can't believe we've made it."

Grace smiled and kissed him, ignoring the salty taste of his lips.

"Daaaaaaaaaaad," Jake drawled meaningfully as they pulled away from the brief if loving kiss, ignoring the smirks on their colleagues faces.

"Jake," Neil said warningly with a shake of the head. Grace glanced between the two, confused. "Later."

"Fine," Jake sighed huffily, obviously disappointed, before brightening again. "Can we go to Pancake House now?"

* * *

><p><em>Year: 2019<em>

"She's just obsessed with Naomi's stomach at the moment," Banksy beamed. "Louisa's even putting teddy bears under her shirt and pretending she's pregnant too."

"Have you been asked where babies come from yet?" Mickey asked.

Bansky rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. One of her little friends had told her about the stork, and so she came to us completely confused – 'Daddy, daddy, where does the stork get the baby from?'."

Everyone laughed, and Banksy took another sip of his beer as he practically glowed with delight.

Stevie grinned as she recognised the young, dark-haired man making his way through the crowded pub to their area near the bar. He was slender, and dressed fashionably in jeans, leather combat boots and a sensible black coat.

"Oi, gov," she alerted DCI Manson with a nod.

"Stevie!" Jake chided, crestfallen. "I was going to scare him!"

"You were going to try, son," Neil said as the two men embraced. "What are you doing here? Oxford come to its senses and kick you out?"

"Dad!" Jake objected indignantly as his father's colleagues snickered. "Can't a guy just decide to come home and visit his parents?"

"No... you usually want something," Neil replied teasingly.

"Jakey?" Grace re-approached the table with Jo, having been victorious once again in a game of pool.

"Gracie!" Jake greeted enthusiastically, barely waiting for her to put the drinks down before wrapping her in a bear hug.

"Is everything all right, darling?" she asked as the hug ended. Grace frowned, examining her step-son closely. "You've lost weight, are you eating all right?"

"See, Dad, _this _is why she's my favourite," Jake said, mock-glaring at Neil. "You know the first thing he asked me, Grace? Whether I'd been kicked out of university!"

"Don't listen to your mean dad," Grace said, patting Jake's shoulder with mock-sympathy. Neil rolled his eyes.

"See what you have to look forward to, Banksy?" he said. "They'll gang up on you like this."

"Yeah, but you love it," the other man said, not believing Neil's apparent exasperation for a second.

"Do you want a beer, son?" Neil asked glancing down at his own empty drink. Jake nodded, and Neil headed to the bar.

"So young Mr Manson," Jo began. "What does bring you back to London?"

"The criminology course I'm doing this semester has a number of readings written by a Dr Grace Dasari," Jake said with a shamelessly broad grin. "I was hoping for the inside scoop for my assignment."


	10. The Butterfly Effect

_Author's Note: Firstly, I want to thank everyone for their reviews of the last chapter, and to commend some of you for your [frankly terrifyingly] close attention to detail._

_This outtake is not, alas, a happy, fluffy piece everyone enjoys so much. This scene is set in an alternative universe where in _Ultimatum_ instead of receiving good news, Neil and Jake receive bad news. As such, RN and its sequels never occurred. I played around a little with the telling of it - I hope that doesn't distract too much from the story itself._

**This chapter is rated M for adult themes and swearing. **I repeat: this is not a happy piece.

* * *

><p>"Doesn't exactly look like the scene of a crime," Leon noted as he and Jo pulled up in a flurry of lights and sirens in the quiet suburban street. "You think Barton's Street having us on?"<p>

The location of the call was actually on Barton Street's patch, rather than Sun Hill's. Barton Street had apparently had a rough day of it: they'd been chasing a carjacker all day, a serial rapist had been caught mid-afternoon, and this evening, there'd been an armed robbery at a very posh restaurant. When the call had come in from the reasonably posh neighbourhood about a single gunshot being fired, Barton Street's Superintendant had contacted Jack Meadows. Given the lack of any reported argument, the men had agreed it was probably a bogus call, but if it weren't, it would require a large police presence that Barton Street just wasn't able to handle.

Which was why Jo and Leon were merely the first to arrive on scene. Within minutes, a Trojan Unit had pulled up, followed by another Sun Hill patrol car containing Smithy and Kirsty.

Jo frowned as she saw the car in the driveway of the reported house, a gleaming dark grey Mercedes. It looked familiar for some reason. She dismissed the thought as she knocked on the caller's door. A middle aged portly man answered the door, puffing slightly from the exertion of coming down the stairs.

"You're finally here," he said with a posh kind of aggravated impatience. An equally overweight woman appeared behind him. Jo groaned inwardly: she looked like the gossipy type.

"He called ten minutes ago!" she supported her husband in an irritatingly nasal voice.

"What happened, sir?" Jo asked, ignoring the slight.

"Well, we were just sitting down to dinner when _bam_!" the man replied, demonstrating with his hands.

"Are you sure it was a gunshot?" Leon sounded sceptical, and truthfully Jo couldn't blame him.

"Definitely," the other man nodded fervently. "I'm a member of a pistol shooting club, you know –" Leon snorted and Jo shot him a glare. She didn't doubt the man was a _member_, but she suspected he would only ever be there to be noticed. "Definitely a pistol shot."

"What else can you tell us about your neighbours? Who lives there?"

"It's just this one gentleman," his wife answered for him, settling into a gossipy tone. "He must work shifts, because he's _always_ coming and going at odd hours. He's divorced, but he has his child over during the holidays. Apart from when that boy is there, he lives alone. Of course, his neighbour Mrs Potter could tell you more, but she's been visiting her son in Brighton. I have noticed he wasn't home very much for the last few months, but then all of a sudden, over the past week or so, there's been a lot of people coming and going from the house. Something is definitely going on. The entire thing's rather suspicious, don't you think?"

The wave of trivial gossip had been delivered so fast and expertly Jo could do little more than blink. Luckily Leon rescued them as the woman was about to draw breath for a second tirade.

"Do you know his name, ma'am?"

The woman paused with a frown. "It's Nigel or something. The man is rather unfriendly, he only exchanges the _barest_ of greetings and has never-"

"Thank you, ma'am," Jo interrupted hurriedly, sharing a glance with Leon. Neither were the least bit interested in what 'Nigel' had 'never done'. "We've got to go now, thank you for your help."

Not-so-delicately hurrying away, they updated Smithy, standing next to the recently-arrived CID contingent of Grace and Stevie.

"You feeling okay?" Jo asked Grace quietly in concern as Leon replied to Smithy's questions. The other woman had only just come back from medical leave, which she had been on for nearly a full month after being stabbed while posing as a kidnap victim's daughter during an undercover op. Max had failed to pull her out, despite the obvious danger to her.

That incident also explained Stevie's exhausted-looking state. The shorter woman seemed to be living on coffee fumes as Max had been suspended pending a full investigation. The DI had been missing in action over those couple of days, but had returned in recent weeks distracted and irritable to the point where most of CID privately wished Max was around instead. Stevie, who'd always had a bit of an inexplicable fond spot, had eventually been forced to speak to the Super. The Super had immediately been around more in CID, but had refused to say why he was reluctant to force the DI to take time off.

The Trojan unit commanding officer returned from scoping out the place. They reported to Smithy that the house in question was secure and there were no signs of movement, although what looked like an adult male was sitting on the couch in the downstairs living room area apparently watching TV.

"Gov," a strangely ashen-faced Stevie got off the phone. Smithy looked over, alerted by her tone that something was seriously wrong. "The owner of the house it's...well...it's Neil Manson."

The atmosphere suddenly grew more tense.

"We need to call the Superintendant," Smithy said slowly, pulling out his phone to do just that.

* * *

><p>"All units, go go go!" Smithy's voice crackled through the radio, and Jo's team burst through the front door. There'd been no response to calls to the DI's mobile or home numbers, or to the repeated doorbell ringing. Jack had agreed that Smithy should move in despite his own absence.<p>

The front door splintered beneath the assault, crashing inwards.

Jo peeled away with Leon and two armed officers, moving upstairs to the first floor. There, Leon and one of the armed officers continued to the second floor while Jo and her officer Billy searched the first.

The first floor consisted mostly of bedrooms. The first door to the left was obviously a spare room, and the room opposite it was a study. Both held no life. Then an empty bathroom. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom.

Jo felt a little strange as she pushed the creaky door inwards, but she needn't have worried. Neil's bedroom was as impersonal as the rest of the floor so far; old-style wooden furniture abounded, with simple dark grey sheets resting on a neatly made bed. It was strangely tidy, and Jo got the impression it hadn't been used much recently.

The last room on the first floor was the bedroom to the left of Neil's room. While it was obviously his son's room, from the football posters and toys spread everywhere, what really took Jo's attention was the drip stand next to the boy's bed.

Looking more closely around the room, it was evident someone ill had been there. The bedside table was cluttered with bottles of pills, Vick's vapour drops, tissues and _Get Well Cards_. The bed had obviously been recently slept in. Leon caught up with her at the stairs, reporting that the second floor had been similarly devoid of life. They trudged down the stairs, and towards where the other officers had congregated.

Jo edged forward, and stopped in her tracks like her colleagues.

Neil Manson was slumped backwards on his couch. A gun was loosely held in a hand that had evidently fired a shot into his open mouth, up and towards the brain stem.

He was dead.

* * *

><p>The Trojan officers had been dismissed in the light of the evident suicide, leaving behind a small group of shaken Sun Hill officers.<p>

Kirsty was being noisily sick in the DI's kitchen. It wasn't, she explained between bouts of vomiting to Jo, that she had been particularly close to or fond of the DI. It was more that he'd been nice to her once, and congratulated her on a good job only two days ago.

"Oh Jesus," the Super's familiar voice rang through the house.

Jo left Kirsty to clean herself up, and re-entered the lounge. Smithy and Leon had gone outside to co-ordinate the cordoning off of the DI's house – it would be treated as a crime scene until the official autopsy.

The Superintendant had Eddie in tow. For once, Eddie looked solemn as he almost hesitantly approached the body. The Superintendant merely stood, staring at the body sadly.

"Jesus," he repeated with a shake of his head.

"It's just so unexpected," Stevie said, looking at the coffee table in front of the DI. It was empty apart from a packet of cigarettes, unopened bottle of scotch and a clean glass, and a single sheet of paper.

"Not really when you consider his behaviour over the last few months," Grace said quietly. Jo frowned, a handful of select memories flooding back.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Four weeks ago: 1405 hours<em>**

_"Governor?" Terry repeated irritably as the DI's gaze remained fixed on the briefing room board._

_"What?" the DI snapped back venomously. "I was thinking, Terry, or would you prefer me to go blundering in blindly and end up getting one of my officers injured, especially as no one seems willing to stand up and take accountability for stopping an operation that's obviously gone sour? Unlike you, I want to avoid a repeat of last week!"_

_Terry flinched back. It was common knowledge he blamed himself for not rescinding Max's orders, but Jo had done her best to reassure him. Max's orders had been crystal clear, and as sergeant, Terry couldn't have done much more than what he had done._

_Jo suspected the DI partially blamed himself for Grace's injury. He'd been absent that day, indeed, for the remainder of that week, but she knew he'd been made aware of Max's alleged drug use. Neil was probably blaming himself for not picking up on that, and on his return the week later, had been lashing out a lot at Terry._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Three weeks ago: 1829 hours<em>**

_"Philippa, I'm on my way, okay?" the DI sounded exhausted as Jo walked past his office, catching a hint of the conversation. She lingered by the doorframe, just in earshot, curiosity piqued._

_The only Philippa she knew the DI to have associated with was his ex-wife...who she'd last seen punching him in the face._

_"You know it's no reflection on you," Neil continued, his voice strangely soft and gently."We've just got a routine. That's all." There was a pause. "It's okay, I understand. Hey, as long as I'm only your verbal punching bag...yeah. See you in a bit."_

_Moments later, a whirlwind of briefcase, coat and paper had raced out of his office, leaving Jo blinking in surprise after him._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Two weeks ago: 0754 hours<em>**

_"DI Manson's going to be away for a while," the Superintendant looked unusually grim as he announced this to CID. Jo could see Stevie's shoulders slump from her place behind the Super. She couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of sympathy for her recently promoted friend who would now shoulder some of the DI's responsibilities in addition to the suspended Max's._

_"Why?" Terry was still smarting over the large number of verbal lashings the DI had doled out to him the previous week._

_"A family matter has arisen," the Super replied. He hesitated before adding, "it's a very serious family matter." Pausing to let that last comment sink in, his tone lightened a little as he clapped the officer standing next to him on the shoulder. "That being said, I'm glad to welcome DC Dasari back to the fold."_

_Everyone cheered as Grace blushed. Jo thought she was the only person to notice that Banksy and the Super remained solemn._

_She wondered what Banksy knew._

* * *

><p><strong><em>One week ago: 1903 hours<em>**

_"Oi, isn't that the DI?" Terry asked, nudging her and slopping some of his beer in the process. _

_Jo, along with everyone else in their little group, craned her head in the indicated direction. Sure enough, there was the DI sat at the corner of the bar, despite the fact he hadn't been to work today._

_"Let's go find out why he's here," Mickey suggested a little drunkenly [despite the fact they'd only just arrived at the bar, the young man had downed several beers in the space of ten minutes like a pro]. Without waiting for a response, Mickey had started making his way over to the DI. Banksy followed with uncharacteristic haste._

_The remaining members of the group looked at each other and shrugged before following. None of them wanted to miss out on learning more about their enigmatic DI._

_"What's brought you here on your week off?" Mickey asked, settling himself in the stool next to their boss._

_"Mind your own fucking business, Mickey," Neil spat almost reflexively, sounding more exhausted and numb than angry. The near-sympathy in Mickey's eyes crystallised into offence._

_"Gov," Banksy said gently, touching the other man's shoulder. Neil stiffened visibly._

_"Sorry Mickey," he muttered after examining his glass for a long moment. "Look, I'm just here to get drunk, okay? I don't want to talk about it."_

_He drained the glass and set it back down. There was a strained silence as they watched him order another drink, before they all silently left._

_Ten minutes later, Jo was not the only one watching in curiosity as a tall, blond, upset-looking man sat himself on the empty bar stool next to their DI. The two men did not speak, but Neil did not shake off the arm the stranger placed around his shoulders as the other man ordered a drink for himself._

* * *

><p><strong><em>That Monday: 0748 hours<em>**

_Jo felt bad as she headed upstairs to CID. It was only 8am, and here she was bearing another case she'd have to dump on the frazzled Stevie. [With the DI mysteriously absent again for last week and Max on suspension, Stevie was swamped]._

_It was possibly the only reason to explain why, for once, she was glad to see Neil Manson back in his office. With him back [hopefully for a bit longer], Stevie would have some of the load taken off, and hopefully Grace would stop moping around quite so much. Not that that was likely, given their strange little friendship seemed to have splintered recently under the strain of Neil Manson going through whatever crisis he was going through._

_"Gov," she began briskly, giving a light perfunctory knock on his open door. She froze when he looked up at her from his reports in acknowledgement._

_He looked dreadful. Paper-thin white skin stretched across his face, contrasting sharply with the deep, dark circles circumscribed under his eyes. _

_"Jo?" he prompted wearily. He was normally reasonably quietly spoken, as his air of authority meant he rarely had to raise his voice...but this morning he was hoarse and even quieter than normal._

_"You look like crap," she said bluntly, shaking her head. He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, so she unhurriedly tacked on a belated 'sir'. _

_"Gee, thanks," he said dryly._

_"What's the matter?" she asked sympathetically. His face tightened and he looked down to his desk._

_"Nothing anyone can help with," he said with a tone of finality. "What's the case?"_

_She knew better than to try to work around that tone. Halfway through briefing him on the case, a rape case that bore an eerie similarity to one from the previous week, she felt a looming presence behind her. She stopped, half-turning to see the Superintendant with a strange expression on his face in the doorway of Neil's office._

_"Neil," she'd never heard Jack speak so kindly to the younger man before. "What are you doing here?"_

_"Doing reports," the smart answer came without the usual spark of defiance and humour. _

_"Neil," Jack's tone held warning and sympathy both._

_"Jack, please," it was the closest to pleading Jo figured she'd ever hear the DI. "What else am I supposed to do?"_

_Jack sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Okay," he acquiesced quietly and reluctantly. "But if there are any problems –"_

_"Yeah," Neil cut him off. And that was that – the DI was back. If you could call the ghost of the man drifting numbly around the department DI Neil Manson_.

* * *

><p>Jo was jolted back to the present by the continuation of the conversation.<p>

"Yes, but it seems like he just expects everyone to understand why he's been like that for the last few months," Eddie said, picking up one of the two pieces of paper after the table had been photographed. "It's not really much of a suicide note–"

"So it's definitely suicide, Eddie?" Grace asked quietly, looking pale.

"Oh yeah," Eddie nodded, looking at the body briefly. "No doubt. The angle, the placement...The note's the only unconvincing thing, listen: 'Philippa – for the first time in my life I hope you're right. Ricky – I love you and yours, but this was always going to end this way. Thanks anyway. And to us – Sun Hill, sorry for being unbearable.' Doesn't really give much of a clue, does it?"

"Jake died last week," Jack said suddenly, eyes still fixed on the body of his DI. "His son died last week of leukaemia."

"What?" suddenly the DI's behaviour and absences, Jake's bedroom...they all made sense.

"Leukaemia," Jack repeated, finally looking away from the body. "Jake was diagnosed with leukaemia over two months ago. Five weeks ago the first line treatments failed, two weeks ago the last treatments failed and they brought him here and last week Jake died."

"And," Eddie added to the timeline, picking up the other piece of paper from the coffee table and holding it up. It was a receipt stapled to a copy of a gun license. "Nearly six weeks ago, Neil Manson bought a gun."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note Part II: I've always thought it highly likely that Neil suffered from some kind of undiagnosed and untreated depression. He was moody to begin with, but after his divorce I saw him as falling away from most of his friends as well, and throwing himself into his work. Add to this the prospect of losing his son and future redemption...<em>

_I don't want to explain this story too much, but I think I should clarify a couple of things in the note. I've always thought of Neil as an atheist, but of Philippa as someone who believes in God and the afterlife...just not organised religion. Ricky is the same "Uncle Rick" who is Jake's godfather and the blond man in the pub - Neil's best friend, a doctor, and someone who was trying to help him through it._


	11. Finale

**Author's Note: **Here we are, the end of the road! Thank you to everyone who's ever left me a review - it means a lot to know that people are taking the time to write something, anything, about your story. While this scene has been written since about halfway through publishing RN, I have deliberately left this one till last, despite trying to put these outtakes in chronological order because I wanted to end on a more positive note than the last chapter.

This piece is dedicated to _knortho_ for the faithful reviewing and repeated requests over the last month or two [hopefully it meets your expectations!]; and lastly and most importantly to _Feebee_ who has been a constant source of encouragement and entertaining dialogues since I started posting these stories.

* * *

><p><em>Year: 2014<em>

"So he probably went down here," Grace began tracing along the route on the smartboard, a computer-generated red line following her finger. Stevie's attention was caught by a shimmer from her colleague's left hand.

"Graaaace," she drawled, stepping up to the board and seizing the older woman's hand. Stevie examined the ring that lay on the ring finger. "What's this?"

"A ring," her friend replied, the coolness in her voice betrayed by the girlish blush in her cheeks.

"I can see that," Stevie said admiringly, tilting Grace's hand so that Jo who had immediately raced up behind her, could better see it. Either Neil or Grace had really good taste: it was perfect for her. A solitary diamond sat snugly enclosed by four smaller diamonds in a delicate platinum setting. It somehow managed to be both obviously expensive and classy without being gaudy. "But you see, Grace, this doesn't look like just any ring, this looks like an _engagement ring_."

"Oh that's good," Grace continued in the light tone, as if they were discussing the weather. "That was what I understand it to be."

Stevie actually squealed. Terry and Banksy winced at the pitch.

"Congratulations, that's fantastic," Banksy beamed, immediately moving forward to embrace his friend in a warm hug, despite Stevie still holding onto her hand.

Grace blushed even more, but smiled with genuine delight. "Thank you," she said.

"When did this happen?" Jo demanded in surprise.

"Perhaps we should talk about this after work," Grace answered, with an uneasy glance at the previously silent DI Weston.

Rachel unfolded her arms, smiling at Grace. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm sure we're all keen to hear how he popped the question," she paused, a stray thought striking her. "Assuming _he_ was the one who asked, that is."

"He was," Grace shrugged slightly, smile broadening.

"We-ell?" Terry crossed his arms expectantly.

"We-ell," Grace mimicked his tone, torn between her excited delight and her natural inclination towards being discrete with their relationship. "We went out to dinner..."

* * *

><p><em>"Mm, I'm full," Grace sighed, setting down her fork and looking longingly at the few spoonfuls left of her chocolate mousse. After the huge meal she'd had, she honestly couldn't bring herself to finish it.<em>

_"Allow me," Neil offered, whisking the plate away before she had the chance to agree. She mock glared at him as he cleaned up the plate with his customary efficiency._

_They lingered over the last of their champagne, and a cup of coffee, chatting intimately. Their eyes rarely strayed from each other's, and her hand rested lightly in his. Eventually, after their waiter had politely yet pointedly offered them coffee several times, Neil called for the bill. Pulling on their coats, they stepped outside, hands automatically reaching for each other._

_"Go for a walk?" Neil suggested, tipping his head towards the walkway leading to the Thames upon seeing that the rain had cleared._

_"Absolutely," she replied with a smile, tugging her coat tighter around her dress. Neil had taken them out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate the removal of Jake's Hickman line and the end of his maintenance earlier in the week. Pippa and Liam had come up that morning, and had taken Jake for Saturday night mini-golf, giving Neil and Grace the night off for the last of their chemo-forced date nights. She wasn't keen for the evening to end._

_Seeing Grace shiver, Neil dropped her hand and promptly wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his warm torso. She was glad for the extra support – the stone tiles beneath her heels were still slippery from the recent rain._

_They meandered down to the riverside walkway in companionable silence. Grace was the first to admit that the river London centred around was an eyesore [to put it politely] during the day. But at night, the lights of the surrounding buildings lit up the river. Big Ben looked stately and majestic on the other side, as they passed below the London Eye and crowded past the tourists that gathered there even at this late hour._

_"I know _Les Mis_ is set in Paris," Grace began idly, gaze remaining on the reflected lights in the Thames as they made it past the crowd. "But at night, the Thames always reminds me of Eponine singing _On My Own."

_Neil smiled, brushing his lips against her temple. "_In the rain, the pavement shines like silver; all the lights are misty in the river_," he quoted selectively. "Apt."_

_Grace frowned at him in askance when he paused below a streetlamp, just opposite Big Ben, and removed his arm from around her waist._

_"What is it?" she asked, confusion giving way to surprise as he took her hand in his and knelt, rummaging in his coat pocket for a small black jewellery box. "Oh my god."_

_Neil had had a speech prepared, but as his knee hit the cold, wet tile and his eyes met his stunned girlfriend's, he found it fled his mind._

_"Marry me," he said simply instead with a slight shrug as he somewhat awkwardly opened the box with one hand, still holding onto Grace's hand with the other. "I know it's not really your cup of tea, but I just want to ... well... check."_

_It really wasn't her cup of tea, Grace thought frantically. She'd only ever agreed to Sunil because she'd known how happy it would make her family; well, that and the fact that she knew he'd sulk for ages unless she agreed. In hindsight, she could see that they probably never would've gotten married, even without the miscarriage._

_She'd never really understood why Sunil had been so eager to get married. Grace idly mused that perhaps it was just another thing to tick off on his list of things that had to be done to be accepted in the legal society. Grace did understand why Neil wanted to get married though. He was old-fashioned, in the sense that he opened the car door and shut it for her, would try to pull out chairs for her, that sort of thing. Truthfully, sometimes it grated on her feminist sensibilities, but she always tried to remember that he wasn't doing it to be patronising, but rather because he cared._

_She suddenly realised that while she was there thinking about the two most significant relationships of her life her boyfriend was still kneeling with uncharacteristic patience on the cold ground. And she knew in that instant that if she did say no, he'd close the box, put it in his pocket and never again bring up the subject._

_So she said, yes._

_He blinked in surprise, opening his mouth to say something. Grace placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him firmly, drawing him off his knee and back onto his feet._

_"Seriously?" he asked, pulling back slightly so the tip of his very cold nose brushed her cheek, their breaths intermingling._

_"Seriously," she answered, more than a hint of a smile in her voice. He closed the infinitesimal distance between their lips, pulling her into a toe-curling kiss. As they pulled back from that second kiss, she caressed his cheek and commanded teasingly, "okay, you can give me my ring now."_

_He smirked, drawing the hand holding the precious box from around her waist to between their bodies. He extricated the ring, and slid it onto her waiting hand._

_"If you don't like it," he said hastily. "We can always exchange it. I just wanted a ring, you know, to propose –" _

_"Neil," she forestalled him with a finger to his lips, examining it in the light from the street-lamp. "It's beautiful."_

* * *

><p>"We went for dinner, then a walk, and then he, well, he got down on one knee and proposed," Grace abbreviated the story.<p>

"And what does Jake think?" Terry asked, face softening a little at the obvious happiness in Grace's eyes.

Grace laughed. "The first thing he did was appoint himself best man," she said. "And before you ask, no, we haven't set a date yet. We only got engaged two days ago!"

* * *

><p>A week later, Grace was glad that all the fuss was beginning to die down. She did want to marry Neil, or she wouldn't have said yes, but she swore that it seemed Stevie was more excited than she was.<p>

Of course, no sooner than she had said it than Banksy had dropped into his chair across from her, smirk plastered on his face. "There's been a mur-duh," he announced in a poor imitation of the Taggart catchphrase. "Your _fiancé _will be here soon."

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, her fiancé was walking through the door. Grace remained in her seat, but she was the only one who did.

"Hear someone popped the question," Mickey said, taking the DCI's hand and shaking it vigorously "Congratulations, gov."

A flush travelled across Neil's features as he realised there wasn't a lot he was able to do about the slightly goofy smile that had spread across his face. "Cheers, Mickey," he said instead. His cheeks gradually reddened through the round of handshakes that followed Mickey's. Neil turned [to everyone's amusement], bright scarlet when Jack Meadows entered to see what all the fuss was about, grabbed the younger man's hand in a hearty handshake while leaning in close to whisper a no-doubt ribald comment in Neil's ear.

"All right, all right," he said, colour stubbornly high in his cheeks as he clapped his hands self-consciously. "Plenty of time for all this in the pub later. Now, I hear you have a dead body for me."

With that, and a wink in her direction, Neil was off to the briefing room.

* * *

><p>The conversation faltered as Stevie and Jo's attention fixed behind her left ear. Grace was about to turn around when familiar warm arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back into an equally warm chest.<p>

"I'm really drunk," came the happy announcement, which contrasted with the still-formidable glare Neil directed at the female officers around his fiancée. "So you can't mock me."

Grace was merely grateful the beer bottle he was waving dangerously near her stomach was mostly empty. She leaned back, tilting her head so she could see at least part of his face.

"Had enough of your impromptu stag party?" she asked with a grin. Upon hearing earlier that day that Neil was not going to have a stag party [given that the best man, and therefore the man in charge of organising it was in fact his fifteen year old son], the boys of Sun Hill had decided to throw him one. That evening.

The last Grace had seen of him, Banksy had been egging Neil on in some sort of Mickey-refereed drinking competition with Jack.

Neil nodded, pouting a little. "I haven't been this drunk since...well, it depends on whether we're counting just being good-drunk I guess."

"Good-drunk?" Stevie didn't even try to disguise her amusement.

"Well, there's good-drunk and bad-drunk. I was last this good-drunk when Jake was born, but I was bad-drunk more recently than that," Neil explained patiently, as if the difference between the two were self-evident.

Jo smirked. "If this is 'good-drunk'," she said, sketching air quotes. "Why aren't you over there?"

She gestured to the rowdy group of officers, predominantly male, who were sufficiently inebriated to fail to notice the disappearance of the nominal guest of honour.

"I'm hiding," Neil replied. "If I drink any more, I'm pretty sure I'll be sick."

"Neil," Grace went from being relaxed in his arms to stern admonishment. "If you're sick on me-"

"I won't be, I promise," he hastily assured her, tightening his arms around her waist. "You ladies just go on back to whatever it is you were talking about and pretend I'm not even here. I'll be quiet."

The conversation was a little stilted at first, but soon, they got back into the groove of it. It was surprisingly easy to ignore Neil, who, true to his word, merely stood there barely reacting to the conversation at all. In return, they largely ignored the way in which Grace's hands rested over both of Neil's, entwining their fingers. And they only raised an eyebrow as Grace leaned back, while he began playing with her fingers.

* * *

><p>Her back was almost uncomfortably warm with the way it was pressed up to his chest, and the way he reeked of alcohol made her stomach turn a little, but she was more comfortable than she'd ever been with him in public. Which was perhaps why she immediately noticed the small shift in posture as he leant down to rest his forehead on her shoulder with a slight groan? Seeing that Naomi, Stevie and Jo were easily carrying the conversation on her behalf, she turned her head to speak directly into Neil's ear.<p>

"Okay? Do you want to head home?" she asked quietly. Neil shook his head against her shoulder.

"Just sobered up a bit," he admitted with another groan. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around her. "World'll stop spinning in a bit."

"If you're sure," she said, bringing one arm up to lightly rake through the back of his head. "I am serious though, Neil, vomit on me and you're on the couch for the rest of your life."

Neil chuckled, sending reverberations through her. "Not so different from my first marriage, then," he joked lightly. Lifting his head gingerly, he smiled at her before moving in for a quick kiss.

"Uh uh," Grace quickly turned her head at the last minute, and Neil's lips hit her cheek instead. "You'll taste far too much of spirits."

"Fair enough," he shrugged placidly, returning his forehead to her shoulder.

At that point, Mickey's protégé Zach stumbled to the circle, halting the conversation between Jo, Stevie and Naomi.

"Governor," he said a little drunkenly. Neil straightened up reluctantly. "Come on. You're the honour of guest, after all!"

As the significantly more sober women laughed, Zach frowned and tried to work out where he'd gone wrong. Seeing the delay, Mickey came to retrieve the DCI.

"Neeeeil come on!" he cajoled. "Look, if you won't go out on a proper lads night, the least we can do for you is get so you drunk you won't even remember how you got home."

Neil turned an apprehensive face towards his fiancée. "Honey, please make sure you remember how I get home," he entreated. Grace smirked.

"Go on," she said, with a gentle elbow to the ribs. "Mickey, do try not to break him."

"No promises," she received a cheeky grin in return.

Neil sighed melodramatically, but did as instructed and released her, not before leaning in and stealing a kiss. As she'd anticipated, he tasted _far_ too strongly of spirits. The alcohol did, however, only enhance the electrical tingle that passed through her at his touch. So, in for a penny, in for a pound; Grace sighed and allowed Neil to slip his tongue over her front teeth.

"Ew, come on, you can do _that_ later," Mickey scolded, grabbing his former boss' arm. After a pointed look from his mentor, Zach followed suit, and the two men pulled a half-reluctant Neil away.

**FIN**


End file.
